Title: The Terrible True Tale of the Private's PrivatesFandom: BBC SherlockRating: PG-13Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John WatsonLength: 790Alternate Link:AO3Content Warning: Sweet, at least by John's standards, and contains absolutely no cannibalism.Author's Notes: Written for the watsons_woes JWP 2015 Prompt #17, a challenge to incorporate humour into a story. This is a sequel to a short JWP Johnlock story I posted a few days ago, and although it stands on its own, it contains a major spoiler for that fic, so I recommend that you read The 'Just Because ' Gift first! Unbeta'd.

Summary: Sherlock's gift hadn't convinced John to talk about his experiences in Afghanistan, but a bottle of well-aged Scotch should do the trick.

After the Great Camel Spider Hunt reached its inevitable finale, Sherlock decided it wasn't worth scraping the spider's remains off the sole of John's combat boot for further study. John set his boots aside for a good clean and shine later. Sherlock produced a bottle of 16 year-old Lagavulin from the back of the top shelf in the kitchen so they could properly celebrate their victory.

"Cheating," John commented with regards to the bottle's hiding spot.

"Effective," Sherlock countered smugly.

A quick inventory of the cupboards led to the realization that every glass in the flat was either broken or dirty, and so the two men settled down on opposite ends of the couch with their favourite mugs. (Recently, whenever John sat in his armchair, Sherlock would complain that he was 'too far away'.)

"We once had a lad report to the hospital with a camel spider bite on his penis," John reminisced sometime later over his third mug of Scotch.

Sherlock winced. "How did he manage that?"

"That's what I wanted to know! Turns out, it was intentional. He only had one week left of his deployment, and some soldiers start to get a bit anxious, you know, superstitious. I suppose he thought it would keep him off combat duty for a few days."

"And did it?"

"Too bloody right. It is a highly vascular area, you know. And would you want a man willing to do that watching your back in a combat zone?"

"No, I would not," Sherlock said seriously, refilling John's mug.

"That's not even the funny part. Few weeks later another soldier comes in, a woman this time. Same story – a few days left 'til the end of her tour, a mysterious camel spider bite to the privates. She wanted me to place her on restricted duty. I had to deny her request, of course."

"Why's that?" Sherlock asked, the perfect straight man. Only – not so straight. John smothered a giggle.

"Well, you know the old saying," John told him, pausing to take a gulp of the Scotch in his mug.

Sherlock's face was already crinkling up when John concluded, "A bite on the wang's worth two in the bush!"

Sherlock buried his head in his hands. "That," he said, voice muffled, "is the worst joke I have ever heard."

"Funny, though. You laughed," John said gleefully.

"I did not," Sherlock protested.

"Did too. On the inside. I heard it."

"John, you can't hear someone … Why am I even trying to reason with him in this state?" Sherlock said dramatically to the ceiling.

He might have been talking to God. Or Mycroft, if the bugs were back. Not the nasty bug they'd hunted down and squished. That one definitely wasn't coming back. Sherlock's penis was safe. Both of their penises. Penises. That sounded funny. Oh, penes, that's it. Like testes!

Sherlock took away John's mug and carried it, along with his own mug and the bottle of Scotch, into the kitchen. When he came back, he brought John a glass of water.

John eyed the glass suspiciously.

"You're ridiculous when you're drunk," Sherlock told him.

"You love it," John enunciated with complete conviction.

Sherlock smiled a tiny little smile. "I suppose I do," he murmured so quietly, John would have missed it if he wasn't listening for it.

Good thing John knew how to listen to Sherlock, to hear his inside laugh and his hidden sweetness. And it was lovely that Sherlock let him hear it, more and more over the past month.

"Now drink that entire glass of water," Sherlock instructed as he sat down next to John. "If you don't, you'll have a terrible hangover tomorrow, and you know you'd blame me for it."

"Course I would," John said with a yawn. "It'd be your fault." He drank the water and then shoved a few journals off the coffee table so there was space to put the glass down. An article on gastrointestinal parasites caught his eye. "Oh, I should eat before I nod off. That sealed container in the fridge – edible?"